


No Fair Fights

by FakeStatenIslandAccent



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pining, Smut, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeStatenIslandAccent/pseuds/FakeStatenIslandAccent
Summary: Everything is going great with your new boyfriend, Sal Vulcano, but his best friend, Brian Quinn, is quite possibly your least favourite person. Brian can't keep his hands to himself, Sal can't tell him no, and you can't believe you'd end up in bed with the both of them.





	1. Fight or Fuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinyinkstainedbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyinkstainedbird/gifts).



            “Ready to watch him crash and burn?” Joe Gatto asked through a signature guffaw as he leaned over, giving your shoulders a warm, playful squeeze.

            You knew everything Joe said was in good fun because that’s what Joe was, good fun. You had been nervous about spending a night out with your boyfriend’s raucous friends, but Joe’s energy, despite there being an excess of it, was calming. If this place went up in flames, he’s the hand you’d grab because he was the type of guy that could talk the fire into putting itself out. Much as his bright eyes and boisterous laughter had smothered your self-doubt and made you feel at home in this booth of this comedy club while you waited for your boyfriend to perform.

            You were tucked between Joe and James Murray. Beside James was Brian Quinn, who was quite comfortable riding the outside of the booth. That didn’t surprise you. It wasn’t that Brian didn’t like you, it was that he wore his suspicions on his sleeve, coupled with his need for an easy escape route should his demons beckon him home, thus making the outside seat preferable. You found it interesting that Brian was Sal’s best friend given Sal’s penchant for drunken affection and Brian’s masterful execution of the Irish Goodbye, among other reasons you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Not yet, anyhow.

            Either way, he smiled as he slid you a pint and you pretended not to notice that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

            You took a generous sip and looked to Joe, “Ready as I’ll ever be to watch you eat those words.”

            Your heart settled to see a nearly undetectable grin on Brian’s face. You could stay, for now.

            Joe chuckled, happy to have you bantering. You were glad Joe was next to you; Murr had failed to look up from his phone other than to give a quick _hello_. It wasn’t personal; he just needed to _pin down this date real quick_.

            “Murr, put your fuckin’ phone down and drink this with me before it goes bad.” Brian slid a whiskey shot in front of Murr, who failed to respond. “Jesus Christ,” Brian muttered, extending the slide of the glass until it was presented to you. “Bottoms up, sweetheart. I hate drinking alone.”

            You sincerely doubted that, given what precious information Sal had shared with you in tipsy confessional since you’d started dating a few weeks ago, but you were happy to oblige, aiming to win Brian over yet.

            “Cheers!” Your shot glasses met in front of Murr, the clink finally bringing him to and he complained watching his whiskey travel down your throat.

            “Hey,” he whined, elbowing Brian, “that was mine!”

            “Why don’t you text someone who cares?” you attempted nervously, wanting to play with the big boys.

            Brian and Joe lit up immediately, indulging in a chuckle at Murr’s expense. Murr’s face fell, but his defeated smile told you it was okay.

            Brian shook a finger at you. “Look out, Murr, Sal’s already got her ripping you a new asshole!”

            The lights dimmed, signalling the chatter to cease and encouraging the butterflies in your stomach to resume their flutter. Sal Vulcano was the funniest person you’d ever met, but you were more worried about what everyone else in the room thought. He was a sensitive soul and you wanted tonight to go well, you wanted him to feel like a king.

            He took the stage and your doubts were laid to rest by the punch line of his first joke. This was where he belonged, his kingdom. Sal lacked confidence in many things, but this wasn’t one of them. Whichever room he walked into, Sal knew he’d be the funniest person present. That’s why when his glass tapped against yours at a party last month you paid no mind to anybody else, including Brian Quinn, the minute Sal had you rolling. He was so goddamn charming and so perfectly amusing that you broke every rule in your book and went home with him.

            Turned out that no one on earth was worse at having a one-night stand than Sal Vulcano and he called to make sure you got home safe from his apartment, despite the fact that you were a born and bred New Yorker that lived only ten blocks away. You knew how to handle yourself around street creeps, but you didn’t know how to approach well-intentioned men with gravelly voices and misbehaving fingers. Fingers that would beckon you to come back and cum hard as often as possible.

  
*         

 

            Sal found his way to his table of companions after his set, already aglow from a plastering of complimentary drinks. “Murr, Q, move your asses.” He thumbed for them to hit the road so he could slide in next to you.

            “Make Joey move,” Brain grumped, taking a swig of his drink to end the discussion.

            “No! I like Joe,” you pleaded on a tipsy giggle, catching your lips against the rim of your glass and enjoying a quick sip of your third pint.

            “What am I? A fuckin’ pariah?” Murr shrieked.

            “You said it!” Joe howled, more amused with his own retort than anything.

            “More like a fuckin’ idiot,” Sal added, tugging on Brian’s sleeve, who begrudgingly relented and slid in on the opposite side, next to Joe.

            “She’s lucky she’s cute,” Brian said. It wasn’t quite a compliment and he certainly didn’t say it to you. Maybe you didn’t give a shit if you won him over. Maybe you didn’t like Brian.

            “I’m lucky she’s cute,” Sal grinned, voice thick from drink and husky from the show. It was a deadly combination that reflexively made your thighs clench and your seat wet.

            With liquor in his system, it meant Sal was going to grow wildly more affectionate with each passing pour, clink, and sip. Murr needed to move right now. You gave him a gentle, yet commanding nudge and he slid out, shooting a glare at Joe for his unintentional hand in the new seating arrangements.

            “Don’t look at me like that, Murray. I don’t wanna sit next to you either!” Joe barked, reaching for a menu, and praying for a dessert selection. “Always goddamn cheesecake. How hard is it for one place to do a pastry?”

            “Who the fuck orders a pastry in a bar, Joey?” Sal asked, scooching in close to you and placing a hand on your thigh, it was large enough that his splayed fingers could nearly grasp the full distance of your thickness. He gifted you an affectionate squeeze and you very much wanted to leave.

            “Your girl can drink, Sally,” Brian offered and you realized you were sick of hearing his voice talk around you, but not to you.

            “Yeah, I can, Q, so why don’t you order a round of shots and we’ll see who’s left standing?” you challenged, play in your voice, but fire in your eyes.

            Brian grinned, almost excited to be put in his place. “Alright then, ladies choice.”

            “Tequila,” you said confidently.

            “Ooooh, shit, baby, you’re gonna be a mess tonight,” Sal purred, his nose brushing your cheek.

            “That sounds like a you problem,” you teased, shuffling against his warm body and enjoying the closeness.

            He reached across you and took a swig of your beer, “Q, get a pitcher, too, yeah?”

            “What am I, your fuckin’ barmaid?” Brian lamented, shuffling out of his seat and recovering his wallet from his back pocket. “Murr, Sally, you in on these shots?”

            “Yes, make it two for earlier,” Murr replied, eyes glued to his phone once again.

            “Definitely,” Sal added.

            “Joey, you want anything while I’m fuckin’ waitressing?” Brian asked.

            “A coke.” He lifted his empty glass for emphasis and Brain nodded, walking to the bar, “Oh, Q, find me a donut!”

            Brain flipped Joe the bird over his shoulder before disappearing in the crush of people lined up for drinks.

            Sal finished your beer and then asked you a question he already knew the answer to. “So, did you think I was funny?”

            “I thought you were hilarious,” you promised.

            He smiled and then looked past you to Joe. “Joe, did she laugh or is she bullshittin’ me?”

            “She laughed a hell of a lot more than Murr,” Joe tossed a coaster at him, “Murray, get off your goddamn cellphone.”

            “Yeah, Murr, are you writing your memoirs or something?” you asked, finally noticing that your boyfriend finished your beer, earning a frown as you stared into the empty glass.

            “Then he must be tweeting because two hundred and eighty characters oughta do it,” Joe said on a wheeze.

            “How many characters is _I’m a stupid asshole_?” Sal pondered.

            James elbowed Sal hard in the ribs. “Next time you can come watch your own goddamn stand up.”

            “I would if I could, I’m actually funny,” Sal elbowed him back.

            James’ phone buzzed and he took a quick peek. “Q needs me to help him with the drinks.” He slid out of the booth and hurried over to the bar.

            You could feel the heat of his breath against your cheek as Sal whispered to you, “Did you have fun tonight?” Through his husky gravel you could detect a hint of apprehension coupled with a plea, he was asking you if his friends had been nice and if you’d enjoyed your time with them. The four of their lives were so intertwined between the show, the tours, and their history that if you didn’t like the boys, things would ultimately never work out.

            You had enjoyed his friends in cascading tiers. You would have robbed a bank with Joe, had he asked you (it was still early). James was so inoffensive with his nose buried in his phone that he might as well have been the colour beige and then there was Brian, Sal’s closest companion. His banter had been laced with a drop of vinegar and his glances had continually held a second too long. Did he want to fight or fuck? You hoped neither, but whatever the truth, there was undeniable tension between the two of you.

            “I did,” you reassured him. You really liked Sal and you didn’t want his best friend chasing you off before the two of you even had a real shot.

            “I’m glad.” He squeezed your thigh once again and you nearly melted into a puddle.

            Brian and James came back to the table, balancing far too many drinks in their hands. They stood at the head of the table, setting down their bounty.

            “Tequila time!” James cheered, knocking back his first before everyone grabbed a shot. “Oh, fuck!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

            “Regretting the second, Murr?” Brian asked as he passed you your shot glass and Sal reached for his own. “Here you go, Princess, let’s do this.”

            _Princess_ , you flinched.

            Joe clinked his coke with everyone’s shot, never one to miss out on a jubilant well-wishing, and everybody downed their drinks. The glasses hit the table as everyone sucked their teeth or gasped around the sting in their mouths. Sal reached for the pitcher, quickly filling your glass and chasing his relief with a long pull. You pulled the beer from his hands and finished the rest.

            Brian and Murr slid back into their seats and the five of you settled into witty banter and a few too many more beers.

 

*

            Sometimes when you drank, you needed a cigarette, tonight was one of those nights. Joe had hurried home to his family an hour ago and Murr left twenty minutes ago to meet a Tinder hook up, which left you with Sal and Brian. The three of you were leaning against the brick siding of the comedy club and you were about to indulge in life’s greatest pleasure: the first cigarette of the night.

            After your second tequila on the way out the door, Brian stuck a little too close to your side while Sal finished paying for drinks. You stumbled into the warm summer evening and found a home against the cool brick siding. You held your smoke between your teeth while you fished around your purse for your lighter, which was proving rather difficult considering your creeping double vision. “Goddammit,” you sighed, nearly defeated. “Ah ha!” Your fingers closed around your green mini Bic and as you brought it to your face your grasp faltered and you dropped the lighter.

            It clattered at Brian’s feet and he picked it up, lighting your smoke for you, holding your eye as Sal let himself dig through your purse to give in to temptation. He’d quit smoking, but tonight didn’t count as he slipped a smoke from your pack and motioned for Brian to hand him the lighter. Brian didn’t drop his gaze from yours as he handed Sal your lighter. Was he fucking with you? Was this stare a game of chicken? Either way, you lost as you turned to your boyfriend. “Sal, you don’t want that.”

            “I sure as fuck do.” He lit it, inhaling around his words like an old pro. “Oh my God. I’ve missed you.” He held his smoke between his fingers and smiled at it. Everything Sal did amused and delighted you. He was simply the most enjoyable person you’d ever met, even when he was a shrill disaster, but you hadn’t seen too much of that yet.

            Brian didn’t smoke cigarettes, but tonight he was drunk enough to take your smoke from your lips, “Do you mind if I have a drag?”

            You officially couldn’t fucking stand Brian Quinn, but you relented and nodded for him to help himself. He didn’t inhale, but he took a drag before bringing your smoke back to your lips and letting his fingers lightly brush across them as he licked his bottom lip. “Thanks.”

            Sal had been tweeting and missed the bullshit his best friend was trying to pull with you. You turned your body from Brian before you couldn't help but deck him for his familiarity. Instead you brought a hand to Sal's face and scratched his beard. “Let’s get a cab.”

            “Yeah, of course. You coming to my place?” He shoved his phone in his pocket and looked down the street for a taxi.

            “You want me to?” you giggled, lacing your fingers with his.

            “It’ll be hard to do what I wanna do to you if you’re not there, baby,” he teased, squeezing your hand, pulling you to the curb. He waved, flagging down a ride. “Q, you wanna share a cab?”

            “Naw, I’m gonna go get a slice.” He closed the space between you as Sal climbed in the backseat and he let his hand brush against your ass. “Have a good night.”

            You turned as Sal was pulling you into the cab and you shot him a look that didn’t deter his sinful smile before he stepped back and walked away. It wasn’t a fight he was looking for after all.

            It was a fuck.


	2. Sal Invited Me

            Nothing was worse for a hangover than the stale smell of cigarettes lingering in your hair to remind you of the mess you were last night. You slowly opened your eyes, breathing in the scent of Sal’s clean pillowcases now tainted by the smoke in your tresses and your head spun as last night crashed over you.

            Sal had been all over you in the cab; he was three drinks past handsy and two drinks past staying awake long enough to do anything about it by the time the two of you stumbled into his bedroom. Not that it mattered, by the time you tore your clothes off you were dead on your feet and your eyes were closed before you even hit the pillow.

            Now his arm was draped around you as he snored softly with his face pressed against your shoulder. For a man that was terrified of felines, he really was a giant pussycat and you adored him, but you needed him to move his sweaty body away from your own before you yaked all over his immaculately kept bedroom.

            You wiggled out of his grip, crawling out of bed, and he grumbled before rolling over, but he didn’t stir. The shower was the only place that could possibly grant you any relief from the booze you’d perspired into the blankets and you limped in as the bathtub moved beneath your feet. You turned the water on and placed a hand on the wall to steady yourself from the shaking in your knees, but you quickly said _fuck it_ and sat with your legs stretched out before you and your head back against the wall. The coolness of the tub was soothing on your backside and the pounding water washed away the shame glaze that clung to you for not telling Sal his best friend had been a complete pig as you left the club.

            You didn’t intend to tell him either and you sure as hell weren’t the one that should feel guilty about it. Brian had overstepped and if you told Sal it would only hurt him and cause a rift between them, or worse between the two of you. With any luck Brian was only an asshole when he drank.

            Problem was, Brian was always drinking, at least when you saw him.

            The water beat against your face in a satisfying rhythm and you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep in the shower until Sal ripped back the curtain, scaring the shit out of you. You screamed, earning an identical reaction from your boyfriend.

            “What in the fuck, Sal?” you gasped, hand over your thumping heart.

            “Why the hell are you sleeping in the shower, you goddamn weirdo?” He crawled in and brought you to your feet.

            “I’m hungover,” you grumbled, reaching for the shampoo.

            “Me too.” You could tell by the rings around his tired eyes that today wasn’t going to be a madcap adventure.

            The two of you showered and staggered back to the bedroom to get dressed.

            You refused to wear last night’s underwear, so you pulled on your dress and hoped an unkind breeze wouldn’t reveal your secrets.

            “Let’s get some food, yeah?” Sal suggested while he dug around his unreasonably organized closet. That was something else you liked about him, his level of high-strung neatness. It was endearing and, after some of your previous relationships, happily welcomed. Sal’s clothes were never wrinkled, his floors were never dirty, and his kitchen sink never overflowed. You could handle that he had to have his shoes organized just so if it meant you never had to look at your reflection through a toothpaste and fingerprint streaked bathroom ever mirror again.

            “Sure, I could use something greasy.” You came up behind him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before he pulled on his t-shirt.

            “Then I’ve got just the place.”  
             
            Something else you adored about Sal was that he usually slid into the same side of the booth with you. Sal was an affectionate person, he was a close talker, he was a grabby laugher, and he was a huggy crier. He was also a sneaky little demon.

            The two of you ordered indulgent breakfasts of sausages, bacon, eggs, and hash browns, ready to eat your hangovers into submission, but while you waited for your food, Sal couldn’t help but squeeze your bare thigh. He didn’t get to fuck you last night and he hadn’t forgot it.

            You thought nothing of his commanding touch until you realized his hand was grazing your skin higher and higher. “Salvatore, keep your hands to yourself,” you giggled.

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He stared at his cell phone, texting with one hand while his right hand trickled between your legs. “Oh, according to Twitter my girlfriend isn’t wearing any goddamn panties,” he teased, cupping your heat with his large palm while his thick fingers ghosted your entrance with a promising tickle.  
  
            “Sal,” you whispered, shooting a worried glance around the diner.  
  
            He continued to scroll through his phone. “Did you know today is National Shut the Fuck Up and Cum Day?” He dipped a finger in your entrance, wetting it, and spread your syrup from your core all along your slit, finally shifting his focus to your clit. The wetness coupled with his firm touch rubbed your clit into tight submission as you gripped your fork in a pathetic attempt to steady yourself.  
  
            “Holy shit,” you whimpered, dropping the fork to the tabletop. It bounced off of your other utensils, creating a racket, and Sal glowered at you.  
  
            “Be fuckin’ quiet or you’re not going to get to cum.” His fingers slid inside, the length of them already meeting your depth as he pumped them slowly. “You wanna cum, don’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot on your face, his voice crushed velvet.

            “Yes,” you peeped, submitting to him, spreading your legs wider to accommodate his mischievous play.

            “Good girl.” You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but Sal Vulcano didn’t take anyone’s shit. If someone stepped a toe out of line, Sal would let them know. This was a trait that translated under the covers. You were surprised to find that Sal’s secret weapon was withholding and he knew you’d surrender because he was a giving lover and a great fuck. So you obeyed, knowing he could easily make you shake against his expectant palm.

            He scissored his fingers against your delicate walls, until he slid against your g-spot and pulsed his fingertips, gradually increasing his rhythm, urging your shallow breathing to escape in hushed chirps.

            His thumb harshly rubbed your clit while his fingers beckoned your orgasm. He knew you liked it to hurt a little, which was why he circled your taut peak with mauling pressure. “Oh my God,” you whispered, losing your battle with keeping quiet.

            Your knees trembled, your hands were shaking, and your cheeks were flushed a tell-tale pink. You nibbled your lip and concentrated on keeping your expression as even as possible as you felt the split second of stillness, the calm before the storm, grip your core.

            The bells above the door chimed and as the coil twisting in your stomach snapped to unleash your orgasm you looked up and made eye contact with Brain Quinn as you sharply inhaled and came. His face was the only thing to find you as your desperate nerves lit up and you panted through the quaking in your centre. You pulsated around Sal’s thick fingers while Brian refused to break your gaze. He slid across the table and smiled. “Enjoying your breakfast?”

            “What are you doing here?” you huffed, trying to steady yourself as Sal slid his hand back to his own lap and readjusted the tightness in his jeans.

            “Sal invited me,” he grinned, “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

            “Naw, we just ordered,” Sal didn’t read the disappointment all over your face, likely because it was masked by a crimson blush. He always invited Brian to breakfast and Brian usually tagged along, but he certainly had forgot to mention it to you.

            Your waitress returned, sliding your plates in front of the two of you. “Excuse me, sweetheart, may I get a menu?” Brian asked, as sweetly as possible, and you felt like throwing up the eggs you hadn’t even touched yet.

            “Sure thing,” she replied, handing him one from the unoccupied table next to yours.

            “Thank you.” He winked. He thought he was so goddamn charming in spite of his blatant insecurity. You loathed him, despite how much his eyes had pulled your orgasm further over the edge. There was something so forbidden about looking at him while your boyfriend made you squirm and you hated yourself for how hot you’d found it. You tucked your dress between your legs to sop up the dripping mess Sal had made of you and you avoided looking at Brian.

            While Brian thumbed through the menu, he picked up his fork and stabbed a cubed hash brown off of your plate. “Excuse you?” you sneered.  
  
            “Don’t worry, I’ll give you one of mine. Thanks.” He never bothered to look up from his menu.

            Part of you wondered if Brian behaved this way with all of Sal’s girlfriends because Sal was doing a piss poor job of either noticing or giving a shit.

            “Q, don’t eat my girlfriend’s food. She doesn’t let me eat her food and if she smacks you, I ain’t gonna stop her.” Sal took a sip of his coffee and turned his attention back to his Instagram.

            Your heart swelled, you were so happy to have been wrong. “You heard him, Brian.” You smiled sweetly.  
            “I’ve been told.” He chuckled, stabbing another hash brown off of your plate while Sal scrolled. He popped it in his mouth to challenge you, having the time of his life watching the fire ignite in your eyes. Your eyes had done a lot for him today.

            You pulled your plate closer and ignored his smarmy glances. “Sally, I gotta stop at the pet store after this, yeah?” you told him, bumping him with your shoulder.

            “Yeah, what for?”

            “I gotta pick up cat nip for Lester,” you replied around a bite of bacon.

            Brian lit up like a Christmas tree. “You never told me your girl’s gotta cat, Sal.”

            “Yeah, I try to forget about it,” Sal chuckled.

            Brian’s entire demeanour yo-yoed from aggressive wolf to soft kitten in seconds. “How old’s Lester?”

            “He’s one. He’s a little asshole,” you grinned, excited to talk about your cat to someone that didn’t actively fear him.

            “He’s a _giant_ asshole,” Sal added. “Look what he done on Thursday.” He showed Brian a miniscule scratch on the back of his hand.

            “Oh no, Sally, could be terminal.” Brain rolled his eyes and grabbed Sal’s coffee. Brian really liked to help himself to things that didn’t belong to him.

            Sal narrowed his eyes at him, no longer wanting that cup of coffee. The waitress came by to get Brian’s order and he settled on the same dish the two of you had gotten.

            “Wanna see my cats?” Brian asked, already pulling out his phone.

            His unbounded excitement to share photos of his furry companions tugged at your heart and you sure didn’t like that. Brian was a scumbag. But his cats were sure cute. So was the way he was holding them. And the way he talked with them in the videos he was playing for you. And the way that they were obviously he soft belly.

            Brian was lonely. Brian hated himself. Brian needed something to love him.

            The problem was that the only person on earth that loved Brian unconditionally for who he was, was sitting across the table from him while Brian decided to take something Sal very much deserved. Sal deserved, for once, to get the girl.

            But Brian’s self-loathing made him unfailingly selfish and as you scrolled through his photos smiling at his cats, he decided he wanted you. He’d already locked his sights on you last month at the party Sal had whisked you home from. But now Brian was going to fight.

            And he didn’t fight fair.


End file.
